


Sam's iPod

by seraphyde



Series: Tumblr ficlets [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Sam, Frottage, Inspired by Music, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Sam, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, The angst can be a bit much, Top Dean, but it gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphyde/pseuds/seraphyde
Summary: Sam discovers his old iPod from his Stanford days. He's far from ready to face the memories and buried feelings that come with it.





	1. Lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> This story consists of very short chapters filled with pining, angst, sexual frustration and brother feelings. I hope you're ready.

Tecumseh, Michigan. That’s where it all began all over again. It had been a regular hunt - a simple salt and burn of a bitter high school teacher gone vengeful spirit. For once there had been minimal complications, not even a scratch on either of them.

Except…

Except Sam had caught a glimpse of a small, metallic green object that peeked from the Impala’s trunk when he was fetching the rock salt. His old iPod, half-broken and missing for at least a year. Given to him by a pitying stranger on his bus ride to Stanford. Still holding all of the songs he had fed his teenage pain with. Packed with memories.

Dean had headed to the local dive soon after the hunt. Sam stretched his long body on the too-short motel bed and plugged the ear buds in. As Sean Brennan began to profess his [will to sacrifice for love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egLAkA4HrXU), Sam was transported back to those first years of bleak solitude at the university. 

_I sacrificed too_ , he thought. _I left. I thought it would stop if I wasn’t with him all the time._

Swallowing a lump of suppressed feelings, he realized that nothing stays buried forever.


	2. Picture perfect

Dean had always been beautiful. His eyes, those full pink lips and the discreet dusting of the damn freckles on his cheeks. The way he carried himself was beautiful. Sam would never be caught saying this out loud, but Dean had an ethereal grace about him. An alluring mixture of almost-feminine beauty mashed with masculine air of self-confidence. 

All this said, Sam loved him the most when he was happy. Joyfully tapping the steering wheel while singing along to Led Zeppelin or telling his stupid jokes to his kid brother. It was hard to keep your cool when all that energy was focused on you.

He was caught staring. Shaking his head, Sam dug out his iPod and picked “[Pictures of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-56h8d3gLgk)” by The Cure. Sam had more than just pictures now, but would it ever suffice?

He sneaked another glance. Dean had his eyes on the road and a small smile tugging at his lips. Sam never stood a chance.


	3. Sobering up

Sam prided himself on being a level-headed, sensible young man that wasn’t prone to overreact nor cause drama. However, a hunt had gone wrong, an argument had broken out between him and his big brother, and the said brother had showed up at their motel at 3 AM, smelling like perfume and whiskey.

That was three days ago. 

Sam had packed his things and left the motel in haste, too mad to give even his flimsiest excuses. He’d just ran, cos that was apparently what he did. Smelling like a Greyhound bus, hunger gnawing at his stomach, fully realizing how unreasonable he had been, he finally took Dean’s call. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I really am,” he sighed into the receiver. “North Dakota, um, 53rd Avenue between Cathay and Sykeston.” 

“Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

He sat down on the side of the road, blowing warm air at his freezing fingers. Of course Dean was on his way to pick him up, he never had to doubt that. He just had no idea what he would tell him. He dug his ear buds out of his pocket and hoped that a few hours with [Clan of Xymox](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B46RgOMO1LE&feature=youtu.be) would provide him the answers that he needed.


	4. So close and yet so far

Sam sat by the window at some no-name motel in Nebraska. He stared out into the darkness of the parking lot, not really seeing anything, as Julee Cruise sang softly in his ear about [falling in love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkl0uByXPDU). Because why not? He was a masochist these days.

A rugaru had clipped him on the back and given him a proper beating just a few hours earlier. Luckily Dean had caught on just in time, setting the fucker on fire. No big deal. These things happened to them all the time. It was what happened after that had Sam’s head in a loop now.

_“Come on, let me take care of you, little brother.”_

He’d brought Sam to their motel, sat him on the bed ( _Dean’s_ bed), and rid him of his jacket and shirt. He’d put his hands on Sam, expertly patching the wound on his back, his hot breath perceptible in the back of his neck. Dean’s fingertips had erected goosebumps on Sam’s skin. He’d held his breath, closed his eyes, prayed he wouldn’t make a sound.

_“There, all done.”_

Dean’s hand had landed on his shoulder, sliding down his arm before withdrawing. He’d left Sam sitting there, completely unable to communicate, and headed for the shower. Nonchalant. Sam had paced the room.

_That was a caress_ , he told his beer telepathically. Dean was using up all the hot water, but Sam was immensely grateful of that for once. He needed all the time he could get to will his misguided erection down.


	5. Rush

Sam paused his [Nine Inch Nails track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccY25Cb3im0) as Dean gestured at him from his bed. He’d gotten dressed at some point and seemed to be ready to go somewhere. 

“I asked if you wanna go play some pool? We’re low on cash,” his brother explained, clearly frustrated. Exactly for how long had he tried to get his attention?

Sam considered for a moment. A wicked idea hit him. “Nah, I got a headache. I’ll look into the lore while you’re gone.” His insides twisted in anticipation. Please. Employed his puppy dog eyes for added effect.

Dean accepted the excuse, pouting. “You’re no fun,” his goodbye rang as the door closed behind him. Once the rumbling of the Impala faded, the next moments were a flurry of activity.

Frantic shuffling at his duffel bag, clothes discarded as neatly as he could. And then finally, finally naked under the warm shower with his newest acquisition in hand. He ran his fingers over its impressive length and girth, taking his time to properly examine it at last. It was lifelike in its feel. Soft and hard in all the right places. Bigger than anything he’d ever taken before.

_Sorry Dean_ , he thought as he attached it on the glass surface. _This is what I spent our last cash on._

He had all the time in the world, but he’d waited too long to take it slow. Bath-oil coated fingers poked at his opening, entering impatiently as Sam leaned his cheek against the tiles. Suppressing his moans as his digits worked to loosen him up, unerringly hitting his sweet spot. 

No, fuck that. He didn’t have to be quiet now. 

Deeming himself ready enough, he coated the toy with the vile lavender bath-oil, complimentary of their current shithole of a motel, and lowered himself on it. Inch by inch, it penetrated him, slowly disappearing inside his ass. He moaned at the luxuriously full feeling, shifting his weight to try different angles. 

_Dean._

He started moving, slowly at first. _It’s been a while._ Teasing his nipples, stroking his cock, he rocked back and forth. “Dean,” he dared a whisper. The feel of his big brother inside of him was heaven, his merciless cock filling every nook and cranny, taking care of him. He grew bolder, bouncing against the glass and groaning shamelessly. One hand supporting his weight on the tiles and the other stroking his erection ever faster, he came with a shout.

“Dean!”


	6. Flying high

“Hey, wanna drive?” Dean asks out of the blue. He’s got a wide smile on his face that Sam isn’t entirely ready to pin on their potential zombie hunt. It’s obvious he’s up to something.

“You never ask me that. What’s the catch?” Sam replies, trying not to smirk. It’s hard when Dean gets this way, exuberant like a child.

“Nothin’. Just wanna conserve my energy for the zombies,” he shrugs, not very convincing. “Come on, Sammy!”

Huffing incredulously, Sam barely manages to catch the keys as they’re thrown at him. 

“Don’t get slow on me now,” Dean teases as they make their way to the car.

Sam is greeted by a strange sight - a lump of miscellaneous wires seems to fall out the car stereo, held together by duct tape. “What’s this?”

Dean shuffles around, searching for something amidst the mess. “Ha!” he exclaims, victorious, and hands over an iPod plug towards Sam. “Driver picks the music…” he raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

“Really? I can’t believe you would do this!” Sam laughs, completely thrown off by the gesture. He starts digging his pockets for his mp3 player, smiling wide at his brother. 

“Yeah, well, shut up,” Dean grins and leans back against the seat, looking for a comfortable position for his nap. Sam smiles to himself, puts on some [Depeche Mode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snILjFUkk_A), and hits the road in high spirits.


	7. Memories

Sam couldn’t sleep. He’d been lying on his bed for what felt like hours, listening to some music and thinking about everything that’s happened recently. 

As a track ended, another began. All too familiar, every chord stuck in his memory. He listened as [Morrissey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__PblMAprcA) transported him to those miserable days at Stanford university. Sam was back in his dorm room, hugging his tear-stained pillow, thinking about his brother, thinking about how he became the very sick boy he is now.

_It’ll never happen_ , he had reminded himself. _He’s your goddamn brother. He’s never gonna look at you the way you want him to. It will never, ever happen._

It’s been years and Sam was still that same sick little boy. No amount of reasoning could change his heart’s desire, no amount of conditioning could prevent his erection when Dean had pinned him under his body on the floor and breathed “Easy, tiger.” Right there, in front of the girl he loved - well, as much as he could possible love someone that wasn’t Dean. 

He was so tired of fighting his very nature that he no longer had the will to berate himself for falling for his own brother. Despite being over that, nothing was easy. He hadn’t been prepared for the avalanche of memories that followed the discovery of this old mp3-player, nor for the total destruction of his mental walls. He knew that if Dean paid attention for a minute, he would see exactly what was plaguing his little brother, and Sam didn’t know if he had the energy to reconstruct the walls again.

He put his iPod away, hugging his sweat-stained pillow. _It’ll never happen_ , he reminded himself once more.


	8. A night on the road

Sam’s insomnia hadn’t let up. They had been on the way to a hunt, driving through the deserted roads of the Dakotas until Dean declared they’d have to sleep in the car. They’d curled up on their respective sides of the car, trying to find comfortable positions on the age-old leather seat. 

Dean obviously didn’t have a problem with this, Sam concluded as he watched his brother’s sleeping form. His iPod was playing [Echo and the Bunnymen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJkrl-h2zIg) on whisper-low volume as he twitched in his seat uncomfortably. The October chill leaked through the doors, the window too cool to lean on. 

Sam wanted nothing more than to lay his head in Dean’s lap, to feel his warmth, to connect their bodies if even in the smallest of ways. It was risky, but in the surreal pitch-black darkness of the back road, he felt like the rules of the waking world didn’t apply. 

Carefully, as if not to awaken a beast in its slumber, Sam lowered his side on the cool leather, placing his head carefully on Dean’s thighs, facing the steering wheel. He let out a long sigh, slowly relaxing in his place. Dean was so warm and smelled faintly of laundry detergent –

And his hand was in Sam’s hair. Two careful, hesitant strokes on the top of his head, muscles tensing in his thighs before relaxing again, the hand slipping back to his side.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” he whispered. Sam pretended to sleep, as if his body wasn’t thrumming with electricity and his world hadn’t just flipped upside down.


	9. Jealousy

Dean had his eyes on yet another waitress and it was driving Sam crazy. They were having breakfast in some diner of a no-name town, Nebraska, while Sam scoured through the local newspaper in hopes of finding hints of a vamp’s nest they were hunting. 

The waitress kept darting curious glances at Dean, who was effectively following her every movement. Objectively speaking, she seemed like a very sweet girl. The kind that didn’t realize just how beautiful she was and probably got surprised every time someone would ask her out. The kind of a girl Sam would pursue in a universe that didn’t have his brother in it. Dean’s advances would be lost on her, but that didn’t make Sam feel any better. 

“We don’t have time for that, Dean,” Sam sighed, trying to keep most of his frustration out of his voice.

“Yeah? I think I have time for that,” Dean snapped, looking at Sam for the first time in minutes. His jaw was set and his eyes spoke of defiance. A challenge.

“Vamps. Focus,” Sam tried. “Besides, she’s not that into you.”

“Jealous, little brother?” Dean asked, dead serious. He quirked a brow in an annoyingly familiar way, chewing his cheek as he looked at Sam straight in the eye. 

That was it. Sam dug out his iPod, putting the ear buds in place and got up. Too tired to have this discussion, he stepped into Dean’s space. 

“Fuck. You,” he hissed at Dean’s face, up close and personal. Jaw twitching in anger, eyes alight.

He strode off, [pressing play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhbB5OTfB7k), leaving his bewildered brother to deal with the check alone.


	10. We need to talk

Dean had been tense all day. Their djinn hunt wasn’t exactly going according to plan and Sam assumed it was eating at him. However, once they returned to the motel after interviewing a very tight-lipped survivor, Dean turned to him. 

“I need to know what’s going on with you,” he said in his earnest tone. “You’ve been acting strangely.”

Sam knew there was no bullshitting him when he got this way, but he had to try. He didn’t exactly have a choice. “What do you mean?”

“Since when did you become Mr. Music Man? All you do lately is listen to music and mope like someone killed your puppy.”

“I don’t mope!” Sam huffed, scratching the back of his head and avoiding eye contact. I pine, he added inside his head. 

“Whatever. You’re hiding something from me. What is it?” Dean demanded, his voice and demeanor commanding. Very much his father’s son at that moment. 

“Drop it, Dean. You can’t help me with this. It’s… personal,” Sam pleaded, directing his puppy eyes at his big brother. He really, really couldn’t go through with this discussion. If only he had time and distance, he’d rebuild his walls. He could do it again, given the chance. 

Dean digested the words for a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Personal? What am I, your co-worker?” he burst out, incredulous. “I’m your fucking brother, you can talk to me!”

Sam sighed, defeated. He took a seat on his bed, trying to put together a sentence that would satisfy his big brother. “Look, I’m sorry. This is something I need to deal with on my own. You got nothing to worry about. It’ll pass,” he lied, hoping it wasn’t too obvious. 

Dean kept staring at him, brows furrowed and clearly unconvinced. Sam looked back at him, channeling his full powers of wordless persuasion. 

“Fine. But if it gets unmanageable, you let me know. Whatever it is. Deal?” Dean conceded reluctantly. 

Sam managed a nod before reaching for his iPod that rested on the nightstand. Despite Dean’s growing frustration, he needed the comfort of his tunes. He flopped on his stomach, effectively ending the unwelcome conversation, hoping [The Stone Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70AUM5GL3Do) would save him.


	11. See me

Sam had around thirty minutes. Dean had gone off on a supply run, fetching food and beer from the nearby town. Thirty minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to properly get off with his new toy, but he could do something. 

Sam switched on the TV, browsing until he came across the first pay-per-view. Following the instructions, he unlocked the video that was airing. A perky blond girl nailed by a man at least twenty years her senior. Generic, but it would have to do. 

He began jacking himself into hardness, keeping an eye on the screen while his mind wandered. _Dean walks in on me doing this_ , he imagined, licking his lips and closing his eyes. His breathing hitched at the thought, his hand moving faster.

It wasn’t enough. He flicked the TV off, ridding himself of all of his clothing in a mad burst of daring. Flopping onto his bed, he turned sideways to face the door and lifted a naked leg into the air. One spit-wet hand sneaking behind his back to tease at his hole and the other trying to jerk his cock at an awkward angle, he knew he was a sight to behold.

_Dean is watching me_ , he pictured. _He drops the groceries where he’s standing._

A low groan tore off his throat at the fantasy, his middle finger dipping inside his opening. He closed his eyes again.

_He doesn't say a word. He approaches Sam slowly, not believing his eyes. Lays a careful hand on Sam’s calf as they stare at each other._

“Come on, Dean,” Sam muttered, turning onto his stomach. Presented himself like an offering to his fantasy big brother. His hands flew to grip the pillow as –

_Dean is eating him out._ His hips started a rhythm against the linens, the friction sufficient against his angry boner. _His fingers are spreading his cheeks apart, his tongue plunging in._

“Please, I need you,” Sam whined against the pillow, frantically thrusting against his bed. Desperately wanting his brother to find him like this, hot and needy. Equally terrified of the possibility of that actually happening. 

_Dean’s humid breath tickles the back of his neck as he dips his raw dick inside his little brother. Sam is totally at his mercy, pinned on the bed by Dean’s hard body._

Sam came messily on the sheets, moaning out loud, hips stuttering. The door remained closed as he relaxed his muscles and caught his breath. Sharp disappointment and blissful relief ran through him, hand-in-hand, as he got up to clean the mess.


	12. Heavenly silence

They’d stopped on the way to De Pere, Wisconsin, to empty their bladders. The road was empty, a little slippery due to the November frost, and the skies were clear. Sam’s iPod was playing [VNV Nation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czyhsa2wuo0) on a low volume and he was feeling strangely serene. Sleepy.

He glanced up at the sky, his breath catching in his throat. “Dean, you gotta check this out!”

He took a seat on the fore of the Impala, gesturing upwards with his hand. The Milky Way was visible in all its glory - the magnificent greens and blues stretching an arch across the sky, undisturbed by light pollution. 

Dean followed his lead, sitting next to him, just a little bit too close. Sam dropped his ear buds, letting them fall onto his lap, the music fading into background noise, barely perceptible. His big brother was watching the sky with an open smile on his lips, his breath visible in the crisp air. Sam was sure he would be able to see the stars reflect from his eyes if he could only get close enough. Dean looked relaxed, sated. Absolutely stunning.

And suddenly his eyes were on Sam. It was becoming a daily occurrence that Sam got caught staring, but Dean never gave him shit for it. Now was no exception - Dean merely smiled at him as he turned his gaze back at the celestial vision above them. 

Sam was dying to lay his hand on Dean’s, close those two inches between them. Soak himself in his brother’s warmth, put his head on his shoulder, bring their bodies together. Instead, he tried shaking these thoughts and savoring the comfortable silence between them. 

Minutes passed until Dean’s words startled him out of his thoughts.

“Maybe we should sleep in the car,” Dean suggested casually, looking at Sam for confirmation. Sam simply nodded, grabbing his mp3 player and getting inside the car. 

Dean joined him shortly, relaxing behind the steering wheel. He stared at Sam until he got his attention and cast a meaningful glance at his own lap. His hand came up to Sam’s shoulder, gently pulling him towards himself. 

It took a while for Sam - petrified, mind racing - to get the memo. He lowered himself on his side, resting his head carefully on Dean’s lap. Trying not to be stiff, not to say anything, not to crack a joke and not to get irrational. Dean relaxed under him.

“It’s cold,” he explained. Sam convinced himself to buy it.


	13. The mistake

Sam makes a terrible mistake in Wichita, Kansas. They’re at a bar somewhere in the outskirts of the city, trying to replenish their cash situation. Dean’s playing a game of pool against a very attractive brunette, flirting palette in full use. Sam has his laptop set on the table, [Siouxsie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Inld-zDad0c) keeping him company through his ear buds while he tries to focus on the research in vain. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t going crazy inside. 

“Hi,” comes a male voice, followed by its owned - an older man, maybe in his thirties, fairly attractive. Short, dirt blond hair, green eyes. Not even close, but close enough. “Mind if I join you? My name is Shane,” he sits across Sam, extending his hand, a jovial smile stretching his mouth. Easy confidence. 

“Go ahead. Sam,” he replies, accepting the hand with a smile. Accepting the game that’s not unfamiliar to him. They spend a good while talking, flirting, laughing. He’s not really all that interesting, but Dean’s eyes are following the exchange, and it’s so worth it. Sam needs something, something that’s unavailable to him, so he’ll take the next best thing. 

Dean watches from the pool table, fury in his eyes, as they exit the bar. But he doesn’t follow them and Sam shoves down his bitter disappointment. Shoves down his jeans in the shadowy alleyway and closes his eyes as Shane takes him in his mouth. It’s really good, he’s skilled, drawing moans out of him, pulling him towards the edge by his tongue.

Dean’s there when Sam opens his eyes, half-lidded bliss turning into blind panic within a second. He’s just standing by the corner, rooted to the spot, anger and surprise written all over his face. Sam can’t do anything, can’t move, only stares his brother straight in the eye. Shane doesn’t notice, continues with his wicked ministrations, does a _thing_ that Sam can’t describe but feels all over his body like an electric shock. 

“Dean!”

It comes out without a conscious thought. It’s somewhere between a moan and a plea, yet clearly articulated and meant for his brother. The eye contact remains and Sam feels like he’s out of his body, observing the irrational scene from above, not in control. Shane doesn’t care about the wrong name, Dean stares back at him with wide eyes, his mouth open, and Sam’s world is crumbling, crumbling… 

“Dean!” he groans, coming into Shane’s pliant mouth, sealing his sentence, damning himself. It’s what he deserves, he thinks, as he watches Dean turn and walk away.


	14. Confrontation

It had been a couple of days since the incident. Days filled with silence, awkward tension, and aborted eye contact. Life went on - werewolves got their asses handed to them, claw marks were patched, and microwave meals consumed on the road. 

On the outside it must have looked just fine, but Sam was slowly going crazy with the unresolved _thing_ hanging between them. His iPod was the only thing keeping him together now - Johnny Rotten reaching him with only [one meaningful sentence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjekvMVFZRc) \- as they exited yet another diner and entered the Impala. 

“So, uhh.. guys?” Sam heard Dean ask as they settled on the seat. He took out the ear buds, sighing, staring and the white balls in his hand. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation - not now, not ever - but they needed it. _He_ needed redemption like he needed air to breathe. 

“Yeah, sometimes.” _Mostly just you_ , he added mentally. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye, but neither could Dean. He saw him swallow in his peripheral vision.

“Okay. For how long?” Dean asked gently, as if carefully treading on unfamiliar terrain. 

“Since always, I guess,” Sam responded just as quietly. _Always you._ “Is this gonna be a problem?” he asked, finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

Something seemed to come loose in his big brother. His face lit up in a grin and he huffed out a short laugh. “Jesus, no. Who do you think I am? Why’d you never tell me, though?”

“I guess I didn’t think it’s relevant,” Sam answered after a short pause, playing with the ear buds in his hands. _I couldn’t risk my cardhouse._

“Huh. I wish you’d talk to me. You know I’m not gonna abandon you, not ever,” Dean said, so sincerely, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he started the Impala at last. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam smiled, just a little bit. He allowed himself a moment of naïveté, leaning back comfortably on the old leather as he tried not to think about what was left unsaid. 


	15. Demons lie

The demon had them at gun point, clearly enjoying her power over the famous Winchester brothers. Her narrowed eyes flicked from one to the other, smirking like a cartoon villain.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here? The incestuous Winchesters. To what do I owe the surprise visit?” She giggled, full of confidence. 

Sam was struck by her words, terrified of the revelations that were no doubt going to emerge. His form stiffened ever so slightly, taking a defensive stance and steeling his mind. 

“We hear you’ve been busy butchering five-year-old kids here. You surprised we showed up?” Dean asks, seemingly conversational. Sam can see his hand moving towards his back pocket, reaching for the Colt in an excruciatingly slow slide.

“Hah! Well, I’m just doing my job. But hey, since you’re here, you might as well help me settle a bet before I waste you. My pal and I can’t seem to agree on which one of you tops. My money’s on Dean, but some first-hand info sure would be nice. So which is it?” she quipped, her over-confidence blindsiding her to what was happening behind Dean’s back.

“What?! We’re not fucking!” Sam surprised himself, thrown off by the words, his reaction gaining her attention. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at Dean, who was shaking his head subtly. Sam didn’t understand the significance of the signal in his panic.

“No?” she gasped, turning towards Dean. “Sweet little brother won’t give it up? I was so sure you’d have bedded him by now,” she tsked, shaking her head in disappointment. “It’s obvious how much you want it. Shame you’ll never have the chance to feel him writhing underneath you.”

She took an aim at Sam, a steady hand pointing the gun at his head. Then the bullet fired. 

She fell, her body convulsing in orange flashes. The Colt’s barrel let out a subtle smoke in Dean’s hand and they exchanged a relieved glance. Sam’s chuckle died in his throat as he remembered the accusations the demon had made. They buried her body in silence, neither willing to talk about what had transpired.


	16. Later, if ever

They were muddy and out of breath, but safely back in the Impala, heading towards their motel of the week. The poor girl possessed by a demon laid a few feet under the forest floor in the middle of nowhere, weighing heavy on the brothers. 

As if that alone wasn’t enough, Sam’s mind was racing with the demon’s words - _“It’s obvious how much you want it”_ \- and his eyes kept drifting back to his quiet brother. His eyes on the road, his face solemn. Guilty, resigned. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if her words held any truth in them. If Dean wanted him, even a little bit, if that guilt was brought on by yet another innocent life they couldn’t save. If any of it was because of his… feelings. For Sam.

He tried shoving it all down, tried tearing his eyes off his brother. It wasn’t working and he had to, he _had_ to – 

“Dean, I–”

“Don’t. Not now.” Dean interrupted, his voice raspy. His eyes carrying an unsaid “not ever,” as they turned in Sam’s general direction, not quite making it.

Sam fell silent, his eyes dropping to his lap, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He shouldn’t have pressed Dean, it was all wrong. The timing, the situation, everything was wrong. Not forgetting that they were brothers. Something about Dean’s reaction gave him reason for hope, though, something he hadn’t allowed himself since… well, never. 

He picked up his iPod, nodding at Dean and hoping his peripheral vision would pick up on it, and [pressed play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2up4WUQod0).


	17. Stop me

Sam wakes up to the sound of the door opening and closing. He opens half an eye, makes out Dean’s form undressing his leather jacket. His step is unsteady, his breathing easy to make out in the dead silence of the night. Sam hears a stray hiccup as his brother advances his bed.

Sam closes his eye just before Dean flicks the night lamp on, an unnatural light filling the room from between their beds. Dean takes a seat across him, a heavy sigh escaping him. “You awake?”

It comes out slurred, the stench of alcohol reaching Sam before he dares to open his eyes. Sensing something he can’t name, won’t allow himself to, he’s careful. Staring his big brother in the eye, him staring right back. A moment passes in silence. 

“Dean?” Sam prompts, quiet, not wanting to spook him.

Dean sighs again, rubbing his mouth, his hair, clearly troubled. 

“Sam, she was…” Dean tries, not quite getting the words out, looking helplessly at his little brother. Scoffs, shaking his head, giving up. 

“What? Who was what?” Sam asks gently, dying to hear it, unable to keep the hope from his voice. Sam lodges an elbow under himself, supporting his upper body, his mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. 

Dean looks back at him, such despair in his eyes. 

“You gotta stop me. Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never bother you again,” he finally says, waits a moment. Sam can’t say a word, won’t - wouldn’t risk stopping whatever’s coming, not for the world. 

Dean smiles ever so slightly, swallows and suddenly he’s in Sam’s bed, turning him to his other side. Fully clothed body pressing against Sam’s back, warm and solid. Sam holds his breath, eyes wide and heart damn near stopping. 

“Stop me, Sammy,” Dean breathes against the back of his neck, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, lodging their bodies tightly together. 

“Never,” Sam hears himself whisper, not entirely sure when he got his breath back. It’s a long time before he lets himself fall asleep, scared he’s never going to have this again.


	18. Morning glory

Sam wakes up, slowly drifting into consciousness, his body stiff but comfortably warm. The light of dawn illuminates his face, pouring in from a traitorous rift between the curtains. 

He realizes the presence of another person behind him, belatedly, as if the weight against his back is something he wakes up to every morning. He doesn’t gasp, wants to, but he isn’t ready to break the perfect moment. Dean is still slotted against him, his limp arm hanging off on Sam’s side like a weight, but comfortable. Secure. 

Sam can’t help the content smile that spreads over his face, his eyes still closed, no reason to hide his satisfaction now. He could think of so many songs that would fit the moment, The Cure’s [Lovesong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lv5qN4Qn9ss) springing to mind, but he can’t even imagine getting up and leaving the bed. Instead, he savors the feeling of his big brother draped over him. Sam refuses to think about what will happen next, if Dean will freak out, if the silence will turn uncomfortable, if his lax body will stiffen and fly off as if burned. 

“Get me some coffee, bitch. I know you’re awake,” Dean moans against his hair without a warning. “Please,” he adds, groggy. 

Sam groans, reluctantly untangling himself and sitting up slowly, stretching his muscles, sore from a night spent in stasis. He turns his head carefully, mindful of his stiff neck, to see his big brother smile at him sleepily. He can’t bring himself to deny Dean anything at this point, so he smiles back, getting up.

“Jerk,” he quips reflexively as walks to the kitchenette.


	19. Roll with it

It had been days since Sam woke up in Dean’s arms. They hadn’t talked about it, but it had changed everything between the two of them. The tension changed in its nature, as if some invisible wall separating them had lost half of its bricks that night. As if every slumbering sigh out of Dean’s mouth against Sam’s neck melted a fraction of the ice. 

Sam had woken up enveloped by his big brother every morning after that. Dean waited until he fell asleep before climbing the bed and wrapping him up tight. The world shifted in the dead of the night, the rules changing and allowing things that Sam supposed the harsh light of the day would condemn. 

When the night fell, the façade of normality was stripped from between them. The gleam of Dean’s eyes changed, the words he spoke to his little brother softened, his smile took on a form Sam had never seen directed at himself before. 

They were mangled and sweaty after a particularly trying hunt, bagging their things in triumphant spirits. Taking a seat in the car with his exuberant brother, Sam realized the next move would have to be his. He dug out his iPod, plugging it onto the Impala’s sound system, not asking for permission. Choosing [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrARl0dzd-0) carefully, he pressed play. 

Now if he could only figure out the words to say to move things forward.


	20. Upping the stakes

“Have you seen my clean boxers?” Sam asks, emerging from the bathroom. Soaking wet, clad only in the shitty, threadbare motel towel that barely covers his knees. 

“Uhh,” Dean manages, looking at him as though he’s never seen him before. His eyes shifting between Sam’s eyes and chest, fighting to stay fixed on his face. 

Sam knows exactly where his boxers are. This is not the first time his big brother sees some of his skin, but the situation is different - he’s not hurt, there’s no urge to patch him up. A drop of water gets into his eye as if by request. 

It only takes a second of consideration. He untangles his towel, bringing it up to dry his face. He feels Dean’s eyes running on the newly-revealed flesh. He’s not sure if it’s his imagination, but it feels like time slows down and stops.

“Umm,” he hears Dean mumble, muted, as though his tongue grew a few sizes and clogged his mouth. “I gotta– I gotta take a shower.”

Sam smiles into the towel, feels the waft of air against his naked side as Dean rushes past him. He stands there, leisurely drying himself up as the sound of the running water interrupts the silence of the morning.


	21. Favors

Sam’s been in good spirits the entire morning since the shower incident, his confidence growing because of Dean’s earlier reaction. He sees a piece of pie waiting for him as he strolls back to the diner table they’ve occupied for breakfast.

“What’s this? I didn’t order any dessert,” he asks Dean as he settles opposite to him.

There’s a small smile splayed on his lips, his hand sliding a bottle of beer over the table. “Figured you deserved something sweet,” he grins, momentarily glancing at Sam from behind his brows. 

Sam knows that look. He’s seen it on his brother’s face a thousand times, but it’s new, his words are new. The world is brand new to Sam, its rules are new and their story is about to be rewritten by a new author. 

“And a beer, too? Wow, dude, I think I owe you a blowjob.”

The words are out before he can think the better of it, but Dean’s not laughing. He’s eying Sam in surprise, his brows raised, his lower lip sucked in. His face lights up after a beat, a sleazy grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, I think you really do,” he winks before turning back to his newspaper. Sam digs into his pie, not even trying to contain his smile.


	22. Turning point

Sam settles himself on Dean’s bed while his big brother brushes his teeth. He draws the comforter over his body, dressed in a simple t-shirt and boxers, his heart beating fast. This is not how it usually goes. He’s awake, in the wrong bed, he’s taking a chance. It’s time. 

He swallows as he hears Dean click off the bathroom lights. The door is closing behind him, his silhouette stilling halfway to the bed. Sam can’t see his face in the darkness of the room, but he’s hoping, desperately hoping his move is the right one. 

Sam interrupts the loaded silence by lifting the comforter, inviting his brother in with pleading eyes. His breathing stills in fear of missing a single sigh or a soft word spoken, he can’t miss anything from Dean right now. He’ll take anything.

Dean awakes from his reverie, carefully approaching the bed. His face comes to view, surprise painted all over it, but eyes firmly fixed on Sam’s, a soft edge to the look. 

“Sammy,” he sighs. It’s a question, but a silent plea as well. 

“Yeah,” Sam says quietly, gesturing for Dean to join him. Dean’s eyes travel across his body, and then he’s laying down, face-to-face with his little brother.

Sam doesn’t hesitate, can’t afford to. He reaches for the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him in and just like that, they’re kissing. The border is crossed, the bricks of the wall are crumbling somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind. Dean’s lips are sliding against him, his hand desperately seeking purchase from Sam’s back. 

It’s wet, it’s so wet, spit and humid breaths heating their faces, their bodies moving together, melting together from hip to chest, pushing ever closer with their legs. Sam’s flying, and he’s taking his brother with him, his arm circling Dean’s upper body and squeezing tight, his hand fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. 

Dean’s hand sinks in Sam’s hair, bringing their faces closer, the kiss gaining in heat. Suddenly Sam’s on his back, his big brother glued on top of him, the same hand cupping his cheek.

“Sammy?” Dean pulls out to ask, seeking his eyes for confirmation, desperate to hear it.

“Yeah, yeah, please,” Sam mutters, pulling him back down, re-engaging his mouth, running his hands all over his back in a frenzy. Dean’s rubbing their hips together, boxer-clad hard-ons meeting thrust by thrust. It’s a revelation - a mess, and yet a divine ceremony, and it seems to last forever. Their bodies moving in tandem, moans swallowed together, the rustle of clothes and linens surrounding them.

And Sam’s coming all too soon, spilling in his pants like a teenager, his ruined lips breaking from the kiss, a low moan tearing from his throat. “God, Dean.” 

Sam’s dimly aware of the hand grabbing his hair tight, of the answering grunt and the stuttering body on top of him, and Dean’s joining his high, flying with him, slumping against him bonelessly. Hot, fast breaths tingling Sam’s neck, he relaxes, carelessly throwing an arm around Dean’s neck. 

Shame and regret don’t exist in the bubble they’ve created for themselves. Time loses its meaning as they’re united like this, body to body, their eyes meeting in silent congeniality. Sam dives back in, heart aching with unspoken feelings, determined to express his reverence.


	23. Doing it right

They were packing, getting ready to check out of the motel and travel to the next - 300 miles away, a potential case waiting for them in Dodge City, Kansas. Dean had been quiet all morning, an air of thoughtfulness surrounding him. Sam couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid to hear what he might have to say after the line they’d crossed the night before. He didn’t want to hear about Dean’s regret, about his inevitable self-disgust, not when he couldn’t relate in the slightest. 

Dean was bagging his guns carefully, his back to his little brother. Suddenly he paused, his head turning to meet Sam’s eyes briefly, solemn and restrained, before turning his attention back to the weapons.

“What do you want, Sammy?” he asked, voice carefully neutral, continuing with the packing as if it was nothing of importance, as though asking Sam if he liked tomatoes. 

Sam understood the language, over two decades of big brother watching serving him well. He took a seat on the motel bed, laying his duffel back on the floor. A heavy sigh escaped him. 

_You. All of you. Sex, tenderness, holding hands, the whole fucking shebang. A white picket fence in a town where nobody knows we’re brothers. Two dogs. Kissing for no reason, beers on the front porch. Real jobs, back massages, deadline stress. A future._ He could lie. He always lied, gave Dean what he wanted, just so he could keep him. 

But Sam was tired, too far gone to go back to what was before.

“Everything.”

Dean turned, meeting his little brother’s eyes, seeking for something. Insincerity, uncertainty? They held the eye contact, the moment putting time in suspension - a feeling Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to, with his heartbeat lost and breathing halted. 

Suddenly Dean smiled, soft, his eyes crinkling. He turned back to his duffel and resumed getting his stuff together.

“Okay then, but if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this right,” Dean informed him, a barely masked note of relief in his voice. “First I’m gonna buy you breakfast,” he shoved the last knife into the duffel. “Then I’m gonna drive us to Dodge City,” he pulled the zipper closed. “And then we’re gonna check into the nicest hotel we find,” he slung the bag over his shoulder. “King size bed, cable TV… How’s that sound?” he finally turned back to Sam, taking a step into his space, looming over his little brother for once. All confidence and smiley ease.

Sam couldn’t say a word, too dumbstruck by the unexpected outcome of their conversation. Too many thoughts and feelings assaulting his body at once, barely processing what Dean had just said. He nodded, all of his usual retorts about being treated like a girl nowhere to be found. 

Dean punched him lightly on the shoulder, heading for the door. “C’mon then! Daylight’s wasting, Cinderella.”

Sam scrambled to follow his brother, too distracted to correct him.


	24. Love me

It was the kind of luxury Sam wasn’t used to at all. The excellent water pressure of the shower soaked his soapy skin, the bombardment of the warm droplets untying the knots in his muscles brought on by seemingly endless hours on the road. His brother driving, the conversation light and meaningless. Anticipation in the air, an unvoiced understanding thick in the atmosphere.

Tonight was the night.

Sam dried himself carefully, the plush towel an unfamiliar sensation on his toughened skin. A quick glance in the mirror, a nervous swallow. He was ready for this. 

Dean was splayed out casually on their king size bed, a towel wrapped around his hips, cell phone in his hand. He dropped it on the night side table upon Sam’s entrance, getting up and meeting him halfway to the bed. They both stopped. Close, but not touching. Considering each other, watching for any signs of second thoughts.

“So,” Dean whispered, the breath making it to Sam’s naked chest, just so. “You sure about this?”

Sam nodded, solemn and sincere, the low lighting of the room casting shadows on his face.

“Cos there’s no going back from this, Sammy,” Dean continued, his fingers brushing Sam’s forearm, lingering, his eyes following the movement. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I– I want to, but do you?” Sam asked, had to know, needed to hear the words. Couldn’t go with the unvoiced right now. 

Dean scoffed, his eyes snapping back to his little brother, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips. “You have no idea, do you? Fuck, if you knew– all these years, Sammy, always wanting you.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean’s. _All these years. All these years? Always?_

Suddenly they were kissing, softly at first. Sam wasn’t sure how it happened, which one of them leaned in, his mind blissfully quiet for once. Dean’s hands were all over him, pulling him in, guiding him, pushing him onto the bed. Sam watched in stunned silence as Dean rummaged through his duffel, producing condoms and lube. 

The towels were discarded somewhere on the floor, their bodies pressing together, perfect skin-on-skin for the first time. Sam gave as good as he got, pulling Dean over him, dreading to lose his heat for a cursed moment. Their dicks rubbed together, the friction a blessing, but–

“Dean, please,” Sam broke from a sloppy kiss. “I need you.” 

Dean paused, lifting head, his blown eyes staring at Sam, on the verge of saying something.

“God, if you’re gonna ask me if I’m sure, I’m gonna kill you right now,” Sam said, breathy and serious.

“Okay, okay. Turn around,” Dean chuckled, lifting his weight off of his little brother. Sam flipped onto his stomach, waited. A ripping sound came from behind him, followed by cool fingers trailing down his buttocks. 

_God._

Sam couldn’t think of words to describe the moment when the first slick finger entered him. It wasn’t new to him, but this was _Dean_ , this was a dream he never guessed would come true. 

His brother took his time, wringing out involuntary sounds from Sam, trying out angles and pressure, careful and exploratory. One finger turned to two, two turned to three, and Sam was squirming against the luxurious sheets, hips meeting the skillful fingers, little whimpers escaping him. 

“Dean, c’mon, jesus, just–” he managed, his voice shot, muffled by the pillow. 

His big brother pulled the fingers out slowly, reaching for the bed side table, only to be stopped halfway there.

“No condom. Just lube,” Sam commanded, no room for debate. 

Dean obeyed, lubing himself up, positioning himself as fast as he could. Sam felt the thick head against his loosened hole, and he, he didn’t want to talk anymore, wanted no interruptions. He pushed his body back, sending a wordless message, swallowing what little he could with no leverage. 

And that was it.

Dean pushed inside, slowly, carefully steering himself through the resisting rings of muscle. Sam channeled all his patience, willing himself to stay still, fighting the urge to buck back, to finally get his fill of big brother. 

Dean bottomed out eventually, draping his body over Sam, his hitched little breaths stirring the hair at the back of his neck. It hurt, just a little bit, to be impaled by something bigger than he was used to, but Sam didn’t have the presence of mind to think about it. Years upon years of longing, pain, and locked up emotions were flying out of him, the burden he’d carried lifting off the shoulders of that sick little boy crying alone at Stanford dorms. 

He must’ve said something, because Dean was suddenly moving, a tiny push-and-pull of his hips escalating slowly, incoherent encouragement falling off his lips against Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam couldn’t - wouldn’t - hold back his pleasure, needed Dean to hear how much he was loving it, how much he wanted this, how insane he felt when when Dean hit his sweet spot.

His big brother lift his body from his back, setting a harder pace and tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair. Sam could come just like this, was fighting not to, wasn’t ready for it to be over yet, but the hard length inside his body was pulling his conscious mind apart, push by push, sending his thoughts and best-laid plans packing, reducing him to his most basic level.

“Dean, fuck,” was all Sam managed before he spilled, his muscles contracting hard against the intrusion, sparks levitating behind his closed eyelids. Sam felt afloat at sea, disconnected from reality, body gaining dominance over mind. His big brother fucked him through it, his bewildered moans barely making it through the ringing in Sam’s ears.

It took but a moment before Dean followed him, his hot seed bursting out deep inside of Sam’s body, christening him, claiming him. A deep sigh got out of him, his fingers shaking in Sam’s hair, suddenly gentle. It took a while before he pulled out, careful and steady, slumping next to Sam. They breathed in silence for a while, coming down from the high together, relaxed and easy.

And then Dean pulled Sam against his chest, his arm around him, and pushed a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, an edge of concern in his voice.

“Never been better,” Sam answered, smiling, no hesitation. He’d never been more honest in his entire life.


	25. Epilogue

_Eight years later_

Dean was loading the Impala, ready to go home after their latest hunt. He placed all the weapons carefully in the secret department, his little brother keeping watch behind him, mindful of curious passer-bys. A small metallic green item caught Dean’s attention all of the sudden and he picked it up.

“Hey, Sammy, look at what I found,” he laughed, waving the old iPod at Sam. 

Sam grinned, grabbing the music player out of his hand, examining it. “Geez, I haven’t seen this old thing in ages. I wonder if it has any battery left.”

“Ha, I doubt it, but we can give it a go.” 

It turned out the battery had indeed run empty, but Sam had hooked it up to his power bank. They were on the road, approaching the Bunker at a respectable speed, Dean’s Metallica cassette ushering them on. 

“Speaking of old things,” Dean said out of the blue, interrupting Sam’s reading. “Whatever happened to that huge dildo of yours?” 

Sam nearly choked on the spot, concealing his reaction by scratching the back of his head and fixing his eyes on the green fields rushing by. “What are you talking about?”

Dean grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. The one that rolled out of your duffel when I got back from a bar one night and tripped on it. Back before we, uhh, _started_.”

“I, uhh,” Sam tried, didn’t exactly come up with an answer, didn’t want to tell his brother he’d thrown it out after they had… _started_.

“You probably got no idea how crazy it made me, to think of you riding that thing. Kept me up at night, I kept staring at that duffel, wondering when you last used it, how fucking hot you must’ve looked stuffing yourself with that thing.”

Sam felt a little crazy himself upon hearing those words, his pulse speeding up and breaths coming faster. “Jesus, Dean. If it’s any consolation, it was just a substitute.”

“Oh, like that guy in the alleyway that gave you a blowjob? The one you called _Dean_. Bet you remember that one?” Dean’s face was suddenly reddening, a steely look in his eyes, still not quite over it.

“Uh, yeah, what do you think that was about?” Sam countered, his growing arousal coming to an abrupt halt. He fixed his eyes on his brother, not afraid to show his irritation on having to explain his ancient mistakes. 

“I wanted to kill him right there on the spot for touching my baby brother. I played with the idea of just– I don’t know, doing something I’d regret, but then you said my name and I just…” Dean grew quiet, his eyes on the road, jaw slowly relaxing. 

Sam sighed. He remembered all too well. “Yeah, I know. Well, I didn’t think I could have you, so I–” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

They drove in silence for a while, the strange mood dissipating slowly. Sam checked up on the iPod, satisfied with the power situation. He inserted the plug (much fancier than version 1.0, now there for Sam’s new iPod) and browsed the contents, grinning at the wide selection of teenage angst. He finally stumbled upon a great song he hadn’t heard since forever and pressed play.

“This is garbage,” Dean commented after the first five seconds, but he was smiling deviously, his mind obviously somewhere else already. “By the way, remember that time you promised me a blowjob after I bought you some pie? Cos I don’t think that happened.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, not entirely sure if that had ever happened. “Dude, I blow you all the time. You’re just angling for some road head.”

“Nope, pretty sure you never kept good to _that_ promise. I’d like to cash in now,” Dean informed him, an irresistible joy in his smile, incorrigible and yet charming.

Sam knew he’d lost this one. He was generally awful at denying Dean anything, especially when it came to something like this. He gave a token protest, sighing deep, hoping he looked sufficiently annoyed as he bent down for Dean’s zipper.


End file.
